


Ambedo

by JustABetaWriter



Series: Detroit Evolution 2020 Artfest [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Octopunk Media's Detroit Evolution
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, DEArtfest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Post-Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Relationship Discussions, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustABetaWriter/pseuds/JustABetaWriter
Summary: (n.)A melancholic trance; the act of becoming absorbed in the experience of being alive — to be enraptured in the vivid sensory details of life.For once, Gavin doesn’t wake up in a panicked sweat, with lingering unease trapped under his skin, and a taste of a false memory on his bloodied lip, eyes darting around the empty dark room as he tries to centre himself
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Detroit Evolution 2020 Artfest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810930
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Ambedo

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my other fic [Sehnsucht](archiveofourown.org/works/24160438), it could be read as a stand alone, but I'd recommend that first.

Gavin wakes up slowly.

With the gentle sunlight in against his closed eyelids, the familiar smell of freshly landed rain, and the gentle sound of cars in the distance. He’s cocooned in warmth, gently cradled in a mass of blankets and limbs, shifted away from the warm light into the side of comforting safety. There’s a familiar presence of his cat meowing from her place on the floor, pawing against the side of his bed, but in Gavin’s sleep addled mind, the thought of moving doesn’t have a chance to occur to him before he’s slipping back into sleep.

Then with the unusual sensation of arms wrapped around his waist, his own hands trapped in his partner’s shirt, the smooth plastic bare under his palms, the trusting white as he opens his eyes to the soft light across rumbled sheets. Gavin’s face is curled into the crook of Nine’s neck, against the gentle edge of softness in his body as he presses impossibly closer, the quiet vibrations of humming against his skin, the ease in which he settles back into loose posture when a hand smooths down his back.

He remembers vaguely what happened last night, the flickering pieces of memory that float above his exhausted mind, the disorientation, the enveloping headache sending him drifting in and out of lucidity, the devastation on Nines face when he found Gavin lying bleeding on the floor. The hand curled still curled over his beating heart—

“I’m so sorry, Nines.” There’s an eternity between his words, trying to swallow the guilt and shame, to keep it from bubbling over. “I—”

“I know.” He’s too forgiving, too naïve, “You promised to let me in,  _ to let me help. _ ”

Gavin doesn’t respond, shifting himself away to sit on the edge of the bed, clasped hands tethering them together, he doesn’t deserve this, this comfort and love, he is a hundred-thousand broken mis-matched pieces, stitched together with staples and children’s glue sticks every night, chipped away and smoothed by the harshness every day. He is broken beyond repair, forever trying to be whole and complete, but he will never be, and  _ Nines deserves so much more than him. _

“I can’t sit by, and watch you destroy yourself, Gavin.” He sounds so disappointed, Gavin can’t bear to hear what comes next, but all he can think of is the utter care Nines had given him, spending days by his side, the patience waiting for Gavin to wake up from his dazed, concussed state. Nines’ fear, waiting for Gavin to open up, watching him drink coffee after coffee, watching the bags on his eyes grow, the seconds in between cases where he put his head down for a split second, exhausted but unable to sleep, even for a moment, the caffeine pumping through his veins.

Gavin never wanted Nines to see him like that again, diving down into the depths of shame and guilt, the manic elation and drive to see just how far he could go, leaning over the edge of a hundred floors, teetering on the edge of self-destruction, but never going over the line, until suddenly he was falling with the taste of blood on his lips, and Nines’ face above him. 

Nines invades his space once again, gently turning his head to look into concerned eyes, “I love you, Gavin. Please, just let me help you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if it gets bad again?” 

“I meant what I said, Gavin. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He leans back into Nines’, feeling guilty for indulging in this comfort while Nines has spent weeks on edge, worried and stressed,  _ because of him.  _ Nines’ arms curl around him, careful and gentle, like he’s something to be cherished, and Gavin’s crushed in a wave of exhaustion. 

Gavin tries to blink away the tears, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before they spill over. “You deserve so much more, Nines.”

“I don’t want more, Gavin.  _ I want you. _ ” Gavin’s been cracked open, and laid vulnerable for Nines, Nines’ who picked up  _ his _ pieces, who hasn’t left once,  _ who wants him.  _

“Just let me help,” Gavin can feel the hitch in Nines’ words, the fear, the pain, the hurt, and he never wants to hear it again, “Okay?”

“Okay.” And he’s pulled back under the sheets, turned around and hugged softly by Nines, a hand smoothing through his hair as his breath hitches, and he clings tight, trying to keep himself from spiraling back into doubt and fear.

Gavin knows what happens next, sitting in an uncomfortable white room waiting for his results, the lumpy couch of a psychologist, the terrifying vulnerability in voicing his deepest and darkest thoughts, the years of healing and learning to move on. But here, in the arms of the person who cares so fully and deeply, with a gentle kiss to his forehead and a white hand in his, the path of recovery looks far less mountainous and overwhelming. 

  
Gavin feels tears overflow, and through the taste of guilt and  _ not-good-enough _ on his tongue _ ,  _ it feels almost like hope.


End file.
